


Euoi

by metonomia



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Bacchanalian Feasts, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Other, Wine, the saddest bacchanal in narnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 19:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonomia/pseuds/metonomia
Summary: Edmund tries to escape his emotional trauma with everyone's favorite wine god.





	Euoi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [einahpets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/einahpets/gifts).

> A small sad Edmund/Bacchus treat for einahpets.

It's a sticky, thunderstorm-in-the-waiting evening, Trees wafting their limbs languidly in the hope of some small breeze. Edmund weaves among a copse of Oaks and brings the cask of wine he's rolled from the palace to a wobbling halt in a small overgrown meadow. He wipes the sweat from his face, uselessly, and kicks off his shoes before sprawling down and breaching the cask. He fills one of the wooden cups he brought and drinks deeply, grimacing at the sweetness before drinking more deeply. 

The next cup, he fills and tosses lazily over his shoulder.

"C'mon, Bacchus, I know you're already here." Hot breath sighs noisily against his damp neck.

"Well that's one way to ruin a god's impressive entrance." The god of wine flops alongside Edmund, pressing too close and pushing at Ed's feet with his own. Vines sprout beneath them and coil up their legs, binding them together. Fresh wet-smelling soil fills the meadow beneath incongruously ripe wheat and grapes. The heat of the air breaks around the sudden growth, then bears down harder.

"Are you trying to knock me out before we're even drunk?" Edmund snaps, turning to glare at Bacchus, reveling in the release of irritation.

"Knock you out and have my way with you," the god smirks, reaching up to trail a finger along Edmund's jaw. "That is why you come to find me, isn't it?"

"Maybe not tonight," Edmund pulls away to pour them each more wine. He sips his slowly, watching Bacchus drink, refill, drink, and refill again. As he does, the god shifts his demeanor, melancholy shuttering over him, matching Edmund's own mood.

"Your dreams are back?" he asks, sending a strong vine to push Edmund's hair out of his eyes and coil over his shoulder. Edmund leans into it slightly, fear and relief warring in his stomach. He drinks more wine.

"Nothing seems to stop them, this time of year. And I can't be around the others right now. The Spring celebrations are too happy for them, I can't let my guilt-nightmares ruin it all."

"You know, Edmund, most people seek me out for those celebrations, not to escape them." 

"I just want to forget. For a while. You can make me forget, and then we can celebrate." He drinks again, and leans forward to kiss Bacchus, mouth and hands sticky with wine and sweat. The god allows it for awhile, and Edmund feels the familiar lust between them rise, his own private, ecstatic romp awaiting. Then Bacchus bites his lip, gently, and takes his hands, firmly, and pulls away.

"You don't need to forget, forgiven king," he says. "But I can help you anyway." He spins a silver goblet out of the air, and Edmund turns to the side and throws up. Bacchus waves the mess away and holds the cup out. It's just a cup, filled with a crisp white wine. No spices, no snow. Overhead, the oncoming thunderstorm growls and a true wind finally begins to stir.

"It won't be pleasant," Bacchus warns. "I'm going to help you tear yourself apart." 

"That sounds like a kind of forgetting," Edmund says, and takes the cup.


End file.
